Everybody Knows
by BringMeGiants
Summary: Sequel to Nobody Knows. Greg has trouble keeping his knowledge about THE RELATIONSHIP to himself... New chapter up!
1. Everybody Knows

**I'm bored, and Season 7 is still many moons away, so I present: the sequel to _Nobody Knows_ - as this is the only idea I have knocking about in my head at the moment. **

**Sad but true. **

**You like, please leave a review. You don't like - well, leave one anyway. I'll be eternally grateful, even if you tell me you hated it!**

**_Getting tired of having to say this before every story, but - surprise, surprise, I don't own them. Just the CSI Dvd's and a disturbingly well worn copy of To Live And Die In LA. _**

**_Enough said._**

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**Everybody Knows…**

Greg took his sweet time walking the short distance from his car to the lab. For once in his life, he was absolutely dreading having to walk through those doors and facing the people inside. Absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his already messed up hair, he wondered if he could get away with just calling in sick today. Or better yet – he could just hand in his resignation, jump back in his car and drive into the hills.

For the first time in his life, he understood why some people lived all alone in little dilapidated cabins in the woods, with only their shotguns for company. The idea of never having to see another living person in his life was enticing. And the idea of not having to lay eyes on two very _particular_ human beings ever again, was proving almost irresistible at the moment.

Sighing heavily, Greg paused at the door of the lab and tried to screw up his courage. He was going to need all of it, if he was going to get through this shift. He was about to try and keep the biggest secret of his life, and he was going to have to keep it from a bunch of people who were like hawks when it came to spotting stuff.

Yep – this was going to be one tough night.

If he could just get through the first bit, he reckoned he would be OK. Since it was Grissom's night off (Greg gave an involuntary shudder), Catherine would be handing out assignments, and if he could just keep his cool for that, he should be fine. He would go into the break room, grab a cup of coffee, pretend to read the paper and keep his mouth shut. Then he would go and finish analysing the fingerprints he lifted at the robbery last night.

With a little luck, everyone else would have their own cases to worry about, and they would leave him the hell alone.

Taking a deep breath, Greg straightened his clothes and headed through the door. But he was nearly knocked off his feet by Hodges, who steamed up from behind and barged through the door with only a contemptuous, "Out of my way, "funtain" boy!" tossed in Greg's direction, before making a bee-line straight for Ecklie's office.

Greg watched his retreating back with an irritated grimace. Stupid Hodges. But at least he was the _one _person in the lab that Greg could trust _not_ to figure anything out.

Taking a wide berth past Bobby and Archie in the foyer and trying to look really busy as he breezed past the DNA lab, he finally got to the break room without having to speak to anybody. Quietly humming the Mission Impossible theme tune in his head, he was almost starting to enjoy himself. For once, he was way ahead of the game – the Keeper of Knowledge, the Grand Sage, the Yoda of the lab.

Yeah – keeping this thing a secret could be fun.

Mustering up a big (if slightly strained) grin, Greg opened the door. Nick and Warrick were watching something on the TV in the corner, and Brass was sitting on the couch, a mug in his hand. The older man had only been back at work for a month, and since he was still riding a desk, he had taken to occasionally popping over to the lab for a coffee when things were slow. Greg's smile widened when he noticed that Brass was wearing a dark blue sweater, instead of the usual jacket and tie. It looked strange - but in a good way, Greg decided.

He was still contemplating how much his world had changed over the last hour, when Catherine wafted through the door, assignment slips in hand.

"Evening boys! Looking good Jim – been on a shopping spree?"

"What – this old thing?" Brass grinned. "You like?"

"Well, let's just say it's a lot more flattering than those butt ugly hospital gowns were."

"Maybe, but at least the gown had the added advantage of being open at the back, thus showing off my nice ass…"

Catherine smirked and Nick and Warrick laughed as they sat down at the desk. Greg simply watched the little exchange in fascinated horror. Was it everybody's sole purpose today to gross him out? Brass's butt. Yet another image that would take months, if not years, to purge from his poor, freaked out brain. Shakily, he picked a spot at the table as far away from the homicide detective as he could get.

"Right – on the menu tonight – Warrick, you and I get the dead body downtown, Greg you finish up your robbery from yesterday, and Nick - you and Sara take the--" Catherine looked up from the paper in her hand. "Um…we seem to be missing a certain workaholic brunette from our ranks. Anyone got any idea what's holding her up?"

Greg hadn't meant to say it. He really, really hadn't. But the words were out of his mouth before his brain and his better judgement could catch up.

"No – but I bet I know _who's_ holding her up…"

The silence that greeted his statement was so complete that Greg could hear his heart slamming against his chest as he fought the wave of nausea that was threatening to overcome him.

He was a dead man.

"Greeeeeeg…?" Nick was the first one to recover his poise and he fixed Greg with a sly smile. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

"Yeah Sanders – you seen anything lately that might be of interest to the rest of us?" Brass was smiling too, and Greg was surprised to see that even Warrick had a huge grin on his face.

"Spill it Quincy – what do you know?" As Catherine fixed him with _that _look in her eye, Greg was reminded of the death glare he'd gotten from Grissom in the parking lot and he mentally steeled himself. He was going to have to weather this storm come what may, because he was too young and pretty to die. And if he spilled the beans now, he was absolutely positive that his boss would make good on his earlier threat. Putting on his best poker face, Greg tried to look nonchalant as he took a trembling sip of his coffee.

"No…nothing. I just…uh…swung by...Sara's earlier…talking to someone…that's all…"

He was making it worse. Of that much he was certain, and he silently cursed himself for his inability to keep the slight note of hysteria out of his voice. Right now he was equally liable to start giggling like a fool, or burst into tears. With every eye in the room trained on him, he was gaining a much clearer understanding of what the suspects went through every time one of the CSI's interrogated them.

He'd never realised before what a scary bunch of people they could be.

Brass gave a derisive snort, and Nick shot Warrick a meaningful glance. Catherine simply kept looking at him, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Leaning closer to him, she tried again. "Greg, Greg, Greg. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but either way, we're getting the information we want. And let me warn you, the hard way entails decomposing bodies and stomach contents. Because for tonight, at least, you're ass is mine…"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Greg could feel his throat closing up. He'd known this was going to happen. He always got screwed when it came to stuff like this. As Nick dragged his chair closer, Brass got off the couch, and stationed himself on the corner of the table closest to Greg. Warrick simply leaned over and stared at him intently. This was a classic intimidation technique and Greg was starting to see why it was so effective.

"Uh…look guys…you don't understand…I'm sworn to secrecy…not that it's anything secret…but…I can't…"

Their only response was to shift even closer to him. As the little circle of bodies around him tightened, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead and his breath coming in shallow little gasps. Panicking properly now, he flicked his eyes pitifully from one face to another, searching desperately for a little sympathy from someone. Finding none, he squeakily tried again.

"Guys…please..."

"Two words Greggo – stomach and contents…"

"Cath…guys…don't make me do this…please…I promised…plus, it was nothing…really…I just went to her house…to pick up a book…how was I supposed to know that Griss—"

Damn. Not again.

The howls of laughter and backslapping that greeted his little slip came as a complete surprise to Greg and he dazedly wondered if the stress of the last hour had finally fried his brain completely. Grissom was going to have him in a casket before the day was out, and his esteemed colleagues and supposed friends (and he was using that term _very _loosely at the moment), were all having a party.

Maybe they were all high. It was the only logical explanation he could come up with. Better yet – maybe _he _was high and everything that had happened since he got out of bed had just been a horrifying, terrible dream.

How he wished that could be true.

"Man, you owe me a fifty!" Warrick grinned, as he slapped Nick on the back. The Texan was smiling from ear to ear as he fished a few notes out of his wallet and handed them over, shaking his head slightly. "Damn! Who would've thought _Greggo_ would be the one to get the proof?"

Greg looked at the scene before him in confusion, before the truth slowly started to dawn on him.

"Wait a minute…you guys _knew_? You all knew and you didn't _tell_ me! When…how--"

Grinning, and patting Greg on the shoulder sympathetically, Catherine looked around at the others before speaking.

"Well – we didn't _know_, per se – that is, we didn't have any proof before now, but we've been keeping our eye on them for the last few months, so we had our suspicions…"

"Come on Greggo – the way Sara's been all happy and smiley the last few months..."

"Yeah man. You have to be blind not to see the way the two of them eye each other whenever they think no one is looking…"

"And I could have sworn I saw Grissom grab hold of her hand at the hospital, but at the time I chalked it up to the copious amounts of morphine in my system…"

With a relieved sigh, Greg sat back in his chair. They knew anyway. They'd all suspected for months. They'd all figured it out, before he'd even had the faintest clue.

Fixing the smiling faces around him with the most indignant stare he could muster, Greg only had one thing left to say.

"Bastards. Do any of you know what I have been subjected to in the last hour? The sights I've seen? The emotional scars I will carry with me till the day I die?

Why, why, why didn't any of you take pity on poor little Greg – and _warn _me!"

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	2. Yep They All Know!

**The sequel to the sequel... I will eventually get round to writing the sought after Grissom/Greg confrontation, but for now...**

**Thanks again to everyone who review so faithfully, and to sweet-surrender5 for the good advice!**

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**Yep – They All Know**

Sara Sidle was nervous.

It was a strange feeling - one she hadn't felt for months - and as she sat in her car, she was surprised at the force with which the waves of nausea was washing over her. She rarely felt sick – her gag reflex had been tested (and then summarily suppressed) so many times over the past decade, that the only thing that could get her sick _these_ days was a particularly bad case of food poisoning.

But it was definitely _not _food poisoning that was to blame for the current state of her overstrained nerves. Oh no. Her anxiety and stress could all be ascribed to the oldest and silliest reason in the book.

"Well, that just figures, doesn't it," she grumbled softly to herself. "No matter how independent, self-reliant or successful you are – in the end, all the crap that happens in the world can always be laid at the door of a damn man. Or two damn men."

Leaning her head against the steering wheel of her car, she silently cursed the two of them. She'd already had a quick face off with _one _before coming to work.

"_Shit, shit, shit! I'm going to kill that damn idiot. Kill him!" Grissom's words had been muffled through the closed door, but his intentions had still been pretty obvious. _

_Opening the door a crack and checking that the coast was clear, Sara had emerged from the bedroom, giggling uncontrollably. Over the last few months, she had gotten used to the I've-just-woken-up Grissom – cranky, malcontent and stomping round the apartment like a bear with a sore tooth, until the caffeine from his first cup of coffee had time to kick in. And the look on Greg's mug when confronted by this discontented spectacle had been so absolutely priceless, that Sara couldn't stop laughing, despite the dire ramifications of Greg's impromptu visit._

"_Keys, where are my damn keys!" the fiend had yelled, raging through the apartment, his blue Hawaiian shirt flapping about him like the cape of some bizarre superhero. Hearing the giggling behind him, Grissom had swung round, and fixed her with a glare that would have caused a lesser woman to spontaneously combust. _

"_Griss…" she'd sputtered, "What exactly do you plan to do when you catch him?"_

"_Kill him," was the instantaneous reply. "Find him, kill him, dispose of him, forget about him and plead diminished capacity if anyone ever asks about him." The cushions on her couch had borne the brunt of his irritation, as he'd flung them around, looking for the car keys that were still missing. _

_Swallowing her laughter, she'd retrieved his keys from the kitchen counter, and tried to be as tactful as possible. "You might want to…change…first. Greg seeing you like that is one thing, but I'm not sure if anyone else in the lab will be able to handle the…uh…full…Grissom experience."_

_He'd glowered at her through narrowed eyes, but she could see that the corner of his mouth was threatening to lift into that lopsided grin he always wore whenever she had out-manoeuvred him. With an annoyed huff, he had marched past her, trying desperately to remain as dignified as possible, despite his overwrought state._

_Sitting on the edge of the bed, she had watched as he flung his work clothes on, still muttering darkly under his breath. "It's not only Greg's fault, you know," she'd ventured cautiously. "Can I assume that you didn't bother to check who was at the door before you opened it?"_

_He'd been in the middle of yanking on his pants, but her words made him freeze mid pull, and he stood there for a few long seconds, the Death Glare not quite as effective as he would have liked, since he was standing with his trousers only halfway up his legs._

"_Don't make me commit two murders in one day," he finally growled, before he tugged on the rest of his clothes, snatched the keys from her hand and darted out the door and down the stairs with an agility that a man half his age would have been proud off._

_After Grissom had gone, she'd slowly started to dress for work, while the grim implications of the recent events slowly swirled around in her head. She was pretty sure that Greg wouldn't spill his guts on purpose, but the fact was – like her, he also had a disconcerting tendency to over talk when he got nervous._

_Besides – what in the living blazes was he doing coming over to her apartment unannounced? Did the man not know how to use a phone? What could he possibly want from her at this time of the day, when he knew she was just getting up and getting ready for work? When he was going to see her in less than an hour anyway? And what would happen if this tasty titbit of gossip got out at the lab?_

_It didn't bear thinking about. Murder might be a little extreme, but maybe a stern talking to from Grissom wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for dear old Greg._

_She had angrily swallowed a cup of scalding coffee, before jumping in the car to get to the lab. But during the twenty minute drive, her anger had morphed into tension. Best case scenario – nobody (except Greg) would be any the wiser. Worst case scenario – by the time she walked into the lab, the whole planet would know. Either way, she was still going to have to confront Greg about this, to clear the air, and it was a conversation she was not looking forward to. _

And that's how she'd gotten here, her head resting tiredly on the steering wheel. She was already late, and she couldn't put this off any longer, or Catherine would have her ass. Sighing, Sara dragged herself out of the car, and started trudging slowly towards the lab. She couldn't see Grissom's car anywhere, and she hoped that boded well. Hopefully he had accomplished his mission, read Greg the riot act, and was now on his way home.

As she entered the building, she saw Hodges coming out of Ecklie's office. He was wearing a huge smirk of sly satisfaction, which Sara found a little disturbing. When he saw her, he all but jumped out of his skin, veered around, almost slammed into the wall, and then scuttled off to Trace without saying a word.

Sara watched the little performance with a frown. What the hell was up with him? It must be something huge, to prompt him to act even weirder than normal. Did he know? Could he know? Mentally shaking herself, Sara took a shuddering breath. How could Hodges possibly know anything. Greg might tell Catherine and the guys, but not even _he_ would dream of saying anything to _Hodges_ of all people.

She was just being completely paranoid now.

Right?

Getting closer to the break room, she was surprised to hear howls of laughter and animated conversation coming through the closed door. Slowing down, she was just about able to make out Catherine's voice through the din.

"About time…always knew…"

As her stomach lurched, Sara crept closer, straining to hear what the conversation inside was about.

"Yeah, "Nick's voice was filled with laughter. "After six long, long years, it's about time, ya know? I just wish we could figure out when exactly it all started!"

"I'm with you there man. I dunno – I guess I started noticing a change sometime after we got you out of the box...you know – like they were just more comfortable around each other all of a sudden," Warrick offered.

"Ha ha. You remember that case about the werewolves? Sofia told me that she had to wait over two hours for Sara to get to the phone booth after paging her. Now you kind of wonder what she was doing all that time, don't you…"

At that moment, Sara could happily have throttled Brass until his face turned the same colour as his stupid blue sweater.

"Well, my money is on earlier. Much, much earlier," Catherine grinned at the assembled faces around her. "I always harboured a suspicion that those two got it on, _way_ before Sara even got to Vegas. I mean really – at the time, Grissom told us she was "a friend", someone he "trusted". Now tell me – since when has Gil Grissom ever had a trusted friend?"

Slumping against the wall, Sara decided that she'd heard enough. Backing away from the break room, she pulled the cell phone out of her bag.

"Hey Griss. Um…uh…there's no good way to say this, but…I think we might have a tiny little problem…"

As she walked to the locker room, Sara reflected on how it was that a man, who was normally so unflappable, came to be so fluent in the use of colourful swear words.

One thing was for absolute certain though.

Greg was a dead man…

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**A/N : **

**Yeah, I know - I haven't figured out what to do about Hodges either. I'll tie it all up somehow, I promise!**

**Leave a review if you liked it.**

**Oh hell - leave one even if you hated it. I can take it!**

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	3. Finding Greggo

**Sequel to the sequel of the sequel of the... oh heck, now I'm confusing even myself! **

**As always - a million thank you's to everyone who reviews - every singly one warms the cockles of my heart ha ha!**

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**Finding Greggo**

_I have a gun._

_I have a gun._

_I have a gun._

As he trudged down the stairs of Sara's apartment block for the second time in an hour, the only thing that kept Grissom's wrath vaguely in check, was the repetition of that surprisingly calming mantra in his head. Because heaven knew – by his calculations, no one on god's green earth could blame him if he went psychotic-mass-murderer on their asses right now…

After all – it was the second time in sixty minutes he's had to get dressed.

Second time down the stairs.

Second time driving to work

Second time pulling into the parking lot at the lab.

Second time he's had to come up with a foolproof way of killing Greg Sanders.

_I have a gun, I have a gun, I have a gun…_

Gil Grissom did not consider himself a particularly short tempered man. He could work out on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he'd lost his cool over the last few years, and most of those incidents had been as a result of Ecklie, which didn't really count.

_Not even Mother Theresa would've been expected to keep her temper under control around that abomination of humankind…_

But over the last hour, he'd used so many - well let's just say…grownup…words, it would have made even the most straight-off-the-boat-full-body-tattooed sailor blush.

He also did not consider himself a _stupi_d man. Quite the contrary – it was usually safe to assume, that in any given room, at any given time, he was at least going to be _one _of the smartest guys in there.

But when he saw Greg's dumbfounded face as he opened the door, he couldn't muster up a single, rational, intelligent thought to save his life. Instead, he'd stood there like a gutless wonder, with his mouth hanging open and his lower jaw scraping the floor, while Sara had scampered from the bathroom to the bedroom wrapped in nothing but the scantiest damn robe in her closet.

Even after Greg had pelted down the stairs like a man possessed, Grissom had been rooted to the spot – his mind suddenly having to work so hard to figure out what the hell just happened, that he could actually _feel_ the cogs turning over. He'd once read somewhere that every day, approximately 20 000 brain cells died, and until he managed to come up with a better theory, _that_ was going to be his justification for his slow reaction time earlier.

_I mean really – 20 000 dead cells a day, 365 days a year, for 50 years – that has to add up, right? Plus, I was exhausted, half asleep, taken by surprise…_

Pulling into his parking space, Grissom gave a deep sigh and switched the engine off.

_Oh, who the hell are you kidding – you should've poked one damn eye through the peep hole first, instead of just flinging the door open with such reckless abandon. _

Reckless abandon. Now _there_ were two words that no one could accuse him of using liberally when describing himself. But the last few months had certainly brought a number of changes to the life of one Gil Grissom.

_Reckless abandon – finally working up the nerve to tell Sara how you feel. _

_Reckless abandon – finally throwing all caution to the wind and sleeping with said Sara._

Reckless abandon – gradually moving bits and pieces of his life into Sara's apartment, until so much of his stuff was at her place, that he now pretty much lived over there full time.

_Which is exactly what got you into this unholy mess to begin with. Question now is – what the hell are you going to do about it?_

Sara's earlier phone call had made it quite clear that the cat was completely out of the bag, and that trying to keep anything a secret from this point forward, would be an exercise in futility. But still, they'd decided that it was probably a good idea to just let sleeping dogs lie.

Don't ask, don't tell. It was a policy that seemed to be working well for the military, so as far as Grissom was concerned, it could damn well work for him. At least until he'd had the chance to come up with a better strategy – whatever the hell that might turn out to be.

_Or at least until I have the opportunity to flay the skin off a certain big mouthed, soon to be former, employee…_

He was absolutely dreading coming face to face with the _rest_ of the team. From now on, it would be an endless parade of vague, yet suggestive questions, not-so-hidden innuendo, loads of oblique secret glances and barely veiled smirking. It all made him want to go home, crawl under the covers, curl up in a foetal position, and quietly wait for retirement to roll round, or blessed death to claim him.

_Well, you know what they say - "If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…"_

But then again, Rudyard Kipling never had to deal with Greg Sanders or Catherine Willows, or – heaven forbid – Conrad Ecklie. Because when dear old Conrad finally became privy to this little bit of office gossip, he was going to blow the proverbial gasket, and it was quite possible he would come hunting for Grissom, filled with murderous intent of his own.

_I kill Sanders, Ecklie kills me. Sara kills Ecklie, Sofia goes after Sara, and so the circle of life continues…_

Afraid that he was completely losing the plot now, and realising that he was liable to break out into the opening song from The Lion King any second, Grissom decided that it was time to go into the lab. By now, the team would've dispersed for the night – Catherine and Warrick to the DB downtown, Sara and Nick to the Missing Person's on The Strip, and Brass (hopefully) back to his office.

All of which would conveniently leave Greg alone in the Layout Room, sifting through the evidence of the robbery he had covered the night before.

_Time for a nice, private little chat with Mr. Greg I-couldn't-keep-my-big-mouth-shut-even-though-my-clearly-pissed-off-boss-threatened-me-with-a-slow-and-painfull-death Sanders. _

_Let the ass kicking commence…_

The lab was eerily quiet as Grissom entered, which suited him just fine. After all, today was supposed to be his day off, so the fewer people who saw him here, the fewer awkward question for him to answer later. Sneaking past reception, he stopped at the locked door of his office and took a moment to plan his next move. Looking around suspiciously and taking a deep, fortifying breath, he started his final assault on the Layout Room.

He'd barely taken a step, when a body came hurtling round the corner at the bottom of the hall, its arms stacked high with a variety of files and papers. Despite the fact that the pile of documents was so mammoth that Grissom couldn't even see the person's face, there was no mistaking the tottering gait of David Hodges.

"_By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…"_

_Funny how that quote always pops into my head whenever I see Hodges heading my way._

Unable to take evasive action, he decided that the best plan under the circumstances was to act as nonchalantly as possible, and he tried to dart past Hodges with only a quick nod and an even quicker greeting flung his way.

But on hearing Grissom's voice, the sherpa doppelganger lurched to a stop, and - in almost exaggerated slow motion - peeped out from behind the lofty stack of files. Grissom had seen Hodges behave oddly before, and he never really held out much hope that _this_ encounter would be any different, but he never imagined that a simple "hello" would be able to elicit such a flustered reaction.

With a high pitched, strangled whimper, Hodges took in the sight of his boss, and Grissom could only watch with barely contained amusement as Hodges's face turned a sickeningly ashen colour and he promptly dropped all the files on the floor.

_Einstein was right – only two things in life are infinite, the universe and human stupidity. Double so whenever you're dealing with David Hodges. What a sad, strange specimen of humanity…_

Grissom took a moment to ponder this thought as he watched Hodges's embarrassed attempts to gather up the files, before the lab technician gave him a watery smile and bolted down the corridor, not once saying a word. Glancing around, Grissom was relieved to see that no one else seemed to have taken notice of "Hodges: The One Man Show".

Operation "Kill Greg Sanders" could thus continue unhindered.

Finally reaching the door of the Layout Room, he took a cautious peep round the door frame. Never let it be said that Gil Grissom was not a man who learned from past mistakes. From now on, he was going to make damn sure that he knew _exactly_ who was waiting for him on the other side of any door he might have the misfortune to encounter.

Greg was standing with his back to his supervisor, engrossed in the evidence laid out before him. Stealthily, Grissom slipped into the room and sneaked right up to the back of the lab's youngest CSI. Leaning over ever so slightly, he put his mouth as close to Greg's ear as he could, and then used that quiet, seemingly serene drawl that he usually reserved for talking to Ecklie, or some other manner of village idiot that happened his way.

"Hello Greg."

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**_A/N - I solemly swear that the next chapter will be the Grissom/Greg confrontation..._**


	4. Blue Hawaiian

**Finally! The (apparently) long awaited Grissom/Greg confontration! (Let's just hope it lives up to expectations...author runs away cowering)**

**As always: Thanks a million to everyone who bothered to review and to _sweet-surrender5_ for all the good advice!**

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**Blue Hawaiian**

Greg had never moved so fast in all his life. Grissom had barely finished uttering the words, and Greg had ducked, slid underneath the table and jumped to his feet – clear across the room and on the opposite side of (what he ardently hoped) would prove to be a nice sturdy table.

Greg reckoned that as long as he could keep that table between them, he couldn't come to any _serious_ harm. After all – he was almost half Grissom's age, fitter, more agile – better looking (Greg grinned despite himself), plus he had the added incentive of not wanting to die. On the downside though, Grissom _was_ blocking the only exit to the room.

A minor difficulty, one which Greg decided to ignore for the moment.

By the look on Grissom's face, Greg judged that he had more pressing problems to deal with anyway. He didn't need his finely tuned CSI skills to tell him that his supervisor definitely _wasn't_ here to bestow him with the "Employee of the Month" award.

"What's the matter Greg?" Grissom was still using that dangerous voice, low and soft and almost friendly, and it filled Greg with great trepidation. That voice was never a good sign. That voice usually meant death and gloom to whomever it was directed at…

"Me? Not…nothing…I was just…uh…startled, that's all…" Greg stammered, annoyed at the fact that he could feel a fit of giggles coming on. He couldn't help it: the only image floating around in his brain was of Grissom in that horrible blue Hawaiian shirt. Open. With a hickey on his chest. His hair sticking out in all directions…

_Aaaggghhh! Why does brain think such thoughts? Focus. Focus. Grissom is obviously here for a reason – but why? I haven't even seen Sara since…since…aagghh…earlier, so just play it cool. Be cool…_

He fixed Grissom with his best, most brilliantly white toothed smile, trying to look as innocent as possible. Spotting his hastily abandoned cup of coffee on the table next to Grissom, Greg decided that a subtle bribe might win him some points. After all – his boss appreciated the good stuff as much as he did.

"Uh…" Greg made sure to keep the toothy grin firmly in place, and pointed vaguely in the direction of Grissom and the cup of still steaming coffee. "Blue Hawaiian?"

Now, if Greg had a million dollars, he would gladly have parted with every cent of it in order to make that unfortunate choice of phrase go the way of the dinosaurs. In fact, Greg figured it was a pretty good bet that right at that moment, he would have been tempted to sell his own _mother _to marauding Vikings, if only it would give him the chance to turn the clock back ten measly seconds.

_Oh. _

_Holy._

_Crap…_

_...I'm dead._

Grissom barely moved, but even from across the room, Greg could see his boss's knuckles turn white as he gripped the sides of the table, while his eyes narrowed treacherously. The famous "Death Glare" had nothing on this: the never before seen "I-Will-Scoop-Your-Heart-Out-With-A-Spoon Glower", Greg decided.

_I wonder if he'll at least tell my parents where he buried my poor - soon to be mangled -body…_

"Blue…Hawaiian?"

The voice was so soft that Greg could barely hear it, but he didn't need semaphore to clarify the meaning of the words floating towards him. Gulping down a breath of air, he tried desperately to extricate himself from this unfortunate confluence of events.

"Co…coffee…not…uh…sh…shirt…"

Greg almost choked as the last word slipped out, and he idly wondered if he'd ever be able to drink coffee, think about Hawaii, or look at anything blue ever again.

_I also wonder if my insurance will cover multiple visits to a reputable psychologist, because dealing with this is going to take years of intensive, rigorous therapy. Maybe I can claim that the mental breakdown – which I will undoubtedly suffer – was brought on by undue stress in the workpla-- _

"Greg!"

Grissom's growl snapped Greg's mind back from its self induced stupor, just in time for him to notice that the older man was advancing toward him round one side of the table - his steely blue eyes not wavering from Greg's rapidly blinking ones. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Greg started to inch away from his boss, making sure to keep the (hopefully lifesaving) table between them.

_At least this way I might get closer to that delightfully open door…_

"It seems we need to have a little discussion about appropriate topics of conversation in the work place, Mr. Sanders."

_Shit! He knows! He knows? How the hell? Although, to be fair, it's not like I really said anything. There was that one little slip, but it didn't make any difference, the guys knew already! Well OK, it would probably be more accurate to say the guys **suspected** already, but you know, tomato, to-ma-to. All I did, if I even did anything, which I didn't really, was to--_

"Sanders! Have you got an attention deficit problem I should know about?"

Greg was horrified to discover that Grissom had sneaked another couple of steps closer, and this time the youngest CSI didn't bother with trying to be subtle. Still keeping his eyes on Grissom, Greg took two giant steps away from his boss, which also had the added benefit of getting him two giant steps closer to that beckoning door.

_Advantage Greggo!_

"Getting out of this room is one thing Greg, but moving away and getting a new job is quite another…"

_Damn._

_Busted._

_Maybe another smile will hel—_

"And stop leering at me like that. There's not a smile in the world that will get you out of the bottomless abyss of blackness in which you now find yourself…"

Giving a little sigh, Greg wiped the last vestiges of the faltering grin off his face. His cheeks were starting to cramp from the sustained effort of maintaining it anyway. Now, if only it was that easy to wipe the images of _Grissom_ away, then he, Greg Sanders, could dissolve into a puddle of happiness, without a care in the world.

By now, it was blatantly obvious that Grissom wasn't planning to go away, and realising that the game was up, Greg stopped shuffling backwards and stood a little straighter.

_I'm younger, fitter and better looking. I'm younger, fitter and better looking…And if all else fails, I can always outrun him…_

Swallowing noticeably, he tried to get his voice under control, but it still squeaked audibly when he asked his question.

"Um...am I going to...die?"

He couldn't be sure, but for the briefest of moments, he almost thought he spotted the beginnings of a little twitch of a smile ghosting across the corner of Grissom's mouth.

"Yes Greg."

_Damn, damn, damn. _

"But probably not today."

_Thank you to every patron saint on the planet and my eternal gratitude and undying appreciation to all the sweet angels in the blue heaven above…well, on second thoughts, maybe not the **blue** heaven. Maybe more like the golden heaven or even__ the sil--_

"Sanders!"

This time Grissom hadn't sneaked just a couple of steps closer. This time he had managed to close the gap completely, and was now within easy reach of a slightly trembling Greg.

"Don't make me regret my decision barely twenty seconds after reaching it."

As Grissom brushed past him, Greg tried his utmost to stop himself from flinching, but the older man's quiet snort told him that he wasn't completely successful in his valiant efforts. As his boss reached the door, Greg piped up again.

"Uh…Grissom? I really am very sorry you know…and if it makes you feel any better, my Papa Olaf had a blue Hawaiian shirt almost exactly like that, and I always thought it was kinda co--"

Greg never even saw Grissom move from the doorway – he just felt the dull thud on the back of his skull as Grissom's flat right hand thwacked him upside the head.

"Sanders – if you want to _stay_ alive, never mention the words "blue" or "Hawaiian" in my presence ever again. Because what Grissom giveth, Grissom can also taketh away. Got it?"

"Yes sir...sorry…" Greg gasped contritely.

But as Grissom steamed out of the room, Greg quietly smirked to himself.

_I've got it. Boy have I got it…but just so you know – Papa Olaf didn't look any better in that shirt than you did…_

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**A/N: And that - as they say - is all folks! Thanks to everyone who reviewed - you guys are GREAT!** **If it weren't for the reviews, I would've stopped after "Nobody Knows".**

**Of course many people would argue that_ that_ might have been a good thing, but aaannnyyy way... :-)**


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